Playing With Fire
by CrazyLabRat
Summary: <html><head></head>His shoulders were already broader than mine, and he was big. Not that I was small by any stretch of the imagination, mind you. But Sam was just gigantic… freakishly so. Muscled thighs pinned my legs and huge hot palms handcuffed my wrists above my head, and I remember thinking, for the very first time... I'm going to hell.</html>
1. Fanning The Flames

A/N: This is my second attempt at this fandom, but my first published attempt. I'm not sure where the story is going to take me. I wrote this in about an hour and a half and am just going to self edit and publish. No outline. And for me, that's huge 'cause I have a tendency to over-think and over edit.

Happy reading!

Oh, and if you like, please review!

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><p>Sam was seventeen the first time he actually managed to pin me to the ground.<p>

It was a breezy day out in the Nevada desert and I will always remember the way the dust and sand swirled around behind Sam's head.

The way his too long hair curled around his cheeks to frame his suddenly too adult features.

The way he smiled in victory, but not smirking or gloating… Just, quietly happy.

It was difficult, in that moment, to reconcile the child Sam had been to the man he was becoming. His shoulders were already broader than mine, and he was big. Not that I was small by any stretch of the imagination, mind you. But Sam was just gigantic… freakishly so. Muscled thighs pinned my legs and huge hot palms handcuffed my wrists above my head, and I remember thinking, for the very first time…

I'm going to hell.

My wrists burned where he held them and sweat pooled slightly on my chest, my tee shirt sticking uncomfortably in odd places here and there. And I couldn't have cared less…

Because Sammy… Sam now, he was fucking beautiful.

When had that happened?

And my chest swelled with pride even as another kind of heat altogether gathered and coiled deliciously in the pit of my stomach, and lower still.

His body shifted and he was flush against me, from sternum to hips and suddenly my veins were on fire. And again, I knew that I was going to hell. And I totally deserved it. Because my chest felt tight and my palms were sweating and as he leaned closer, ducking his head to use the crook of his elbow to wipe the sweat from his brow, all I wanted was for him to kiss me.

Hot, damp breath puffed against my neck and my body canted up slightly in want.

It was only by some miracle that it could also be interpreted as resistance to the situation. I've never been one to just give in, after all. So, true to form, my struggles renewed with vigor, but he only laughed. His voice was low now. Deep and rumbling and rich in the most sensual way… and it was echoing through every cell in my body. It was so hard to keep my throat from voicing my arousal. And speaking of hard…

"Are you going to admit defeat?"

I laughed, I couldn't help it. I'm going insane, and to hell… and everywhere in between them.

"I'm not the one who's going down today, baby boy."

This thing… this desire… I don't know where it's coming from but it doesn't feel wrong. And it should. Fuck, but it really should. The hold on my wrists lessens just the tiniest bit as he backs off a little to grin down at me. I pulled and startled him just enough to get my right leg free. I brought it up and hooked it around the front of his waist, then pulled it back down with all of my might. In a flash, Sam was flat on his back, and I was the one pinning him to the dust and the dirt.

It wasn't until I stopped laughing again that I realized our position and really took stock of things. Sam was stretched out beneath me, not even bothering to struggle. And the whole thing was so surreal, because I was holding him down with purpose. My hands clenching and unclenching fiercely as my breathing sped up… I was perched in between his thighs; hips pressed tight and I'm absolutely mesmerized by the way the late afternoon sun danced through the hair splayed around his head like a halo.

If ever there was such a thing as angels, then they were made from Sammy's image… No joke.

But it was the way he looked up at me in that moment that caused my throat to close. He had his eyes half closed, and looked for all the world like he was absolutely content… at peace, right where he was. And later on, when I'm alone in the shower, I remember this moment with crystal clarity. Seven years go by afterwards… But it never leaves me. It never goes away. The long line of his throat as his head lolls lazily to the left. Like he trusts me so completely… like he knows he'll always be safe right here, with me.

It pulled at something inside me, pulled and twisted and yanked until my heart was pounding so hard that all I could hear was the blood thrumming in my ears.

"Training's over for today, Sam… time for lunch."

In my minds eye things ended with a much more interesting climax than that. There, underneath the hot spray I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him, to touch him. To be lying with him like that without the training... without the need to be violent or aggressive… To know what it feels like to just hold him… to touch him until he's panting and gasping in whole new ways, and to make him crave my hands, my lips and my tongue.

…To be gentle.

I came right then, without warning, and it was so powerful that my legs were trembling for some time afterwards. And as I watched the remnants of this first act of transgression swirl down the rusted opening of the shower drain, I sighed. I knew I should feel some sort of remorse, or perhaps regret… or even better, shame. But none of those were rising in my stomach. And it took me a very long time to figure out why that was.


	2. Drowning In Green

So this one is from Sam's POV. Again, no idea where this is taking me. But I'm just going to write and post and see what happens. It's a personal challenge for myself.

As always, if you like it, let me know.

And I'm open to suggestions! I make no promises but my muses do like to tinker with many different ideas. ^.^

Happy Reading!

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><p>Dean was twenty two, when I finally saw him cry.<p>

For the first time in my whole life, and it… hurt.

But it should hurt. I'm leaving him, and it should hurt me too… should hurt me more, even. I'm leaving both of them, sure. But dad hasn't ever really been there. Not for me.

But Dean… he's always been with me.

Every step of the way, he was by my side or holding my hand, dragging me forward. Always so strong and fierce and just fucking amazing... He's never been weak.

No… not my Dean.

Never been the sort to throw tantrums like a child or get scared or upset. He always took everything without complaint, always fixed every problem I ever had. And he never even expected a thank you in return. 'Because that's what big brothers do' he'd say. Like that was the answer to everything. But he can't fix things this time.

He can't fix me.

Because I'm not broken, but I'm sure as hell not normal… but then again, who in my situation would be? I don't want this life. I don't want to live like I might die every single day. I want what every other person on the planet had. I want normal.

But standing there at the bus station, in the dark, while he leaned against the impala with his head bowed, I couldn't help but think I was doing something far worse than just leaving.

I was breaking him.

And you know what makes it even more fucked up?

All I could think about in that moment, as the tears on his lashes glimmered under the streetlights, was how fucking pretty he was.

It hadn't really occurred to me until right at that moment how beautiful his eyes were, or how perfect the curve of his lips was even as it disappeared between his teeth.

He wasn't crying rivers or anything, and I couldn't even see any trails down his cheeks but his damp lashes and red eyes told the story, just the same.

I wanted to reach out to him. To curl my arms around him and breath in the scent of leather, grease, and old spice. I wanted to take him with me. I wanted to never let him go.

"Come with me…"

He turned his back to me and braced his palms on the hood of the car. I lifted my hand, inches away from his shoulder, but I let it curl into a fist and fall away as he shook his head.

"I get it, Sammy. You weren't meant for this. But… it's all I know. Without you, it's the only thing left…"

He turned to face me again, after he took a long deep breath. And then he held out his hand. I knocked it away, because screw that. I wasn't going to shake his hand like this was goodbye. I wasn't going to pretend that this didn't hurt so fucking much either.

I reached for him and tugged him harshly into my chest. My nose was buried in his hair, and my fingers dug into the soft leather of his favorite jacket, and we just stood like that for a minute.

It was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do. Let him go.

But I did it.

And it's the biggest regret I'll ever have.

That night hasn't left me. I don't think it ever will. It's been six years and he's still so fucking beautiful. Sure he's physically attractive, I've always known that. Who wouldn't? And with the way he gets laid left and right, I'm pretty sure the whole world thinks so too. But he has this idea of who he thinks he is… and he just doesn't understand how breathtaking and earth shattering and words-that-haven't-even-been-invented-yet he is. I think about it all the time. More than I should. I thought about it for the first full year at school. I thought about it on the night he came back.

I've dreamt about it too.

When I was younger, my dreams were almost always about monsters or about him. And it hasn't changed now that I'm older. Only the context has. In my dreams he used to save me. He used to be my superman. Or sometimes I saved him, and he'd tell me how I wasn't a kid anymore, that he was proud of me. But this new dream started… this dream where he cried and instead of leaving, I cupped his face… I held him tight and said that I'd never ever go...That I'd always need him.

And when I woke up I was always aroused. For reasons I couldn't really explain. There wasn't anything even remotely sexual about the dreams… but every single time, I was revved up like nothing else. And when I reached down and took myself in hand, curling my fingers under my boxers and around the heat throbbing between my legs, all I could imagine was those glistening green eyes and the way his brows pulled down.

And I'm drowning…

I'd imagine brushing away those tears with my fingertips and then tasting them on my tongue. I'd imagine pressing him down on the hood of the impala and sucking the skin of his neck between my teeth, or weaving my hands into his hair and kissing the breath right out of him… stealing every bit of it.

…Because I can't breathe either.

I should feel bad or something about it, I'm sure. Any normal person would. But as I've already stated, as much as I want to be, I'm not normal. I'll never be normal.

And as much as I think about that night, I'll never be able to live with myself if I ever do that to him again.

I'd die first.


	3. Happy The Hard Way

A/N: Thank you for all of the lovely reviews! Here's the next installment. I hope you all enjoy!

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><p>Sammy was nineteen when I drove out to Stanford.<p>

He never knew.

He never will.

I sat in the impala for hours across from the quad, waiting for even just a glimpse of him. And when I did finally spot that shaggy mop of his, I wasn't surprised to see it surrounded by so many others. Sammy always was a natural at drawing people closer to him. But there was one in particular that caught my eye… a little blond thing, hot for sure. And when he leaned down and kissed her my heart swelled and sank all at once.

I could see why he liked her… Why she fit with him, and that made this a little easier. He's happy here. And that's all I've ever wanted for him. She's everything I'm not. The exact opposite of me and everything I represent.

She was perfect.

I could see it now. Sammy pulling up to a little house with a small white picket fence, and this girl wobbling out to meet him… Looking sweet and happy with a full round belly.

She could give him everything he wanted… everything he needed.

And that would have to be enough.

I promised myself a long time ago that he'd get everything he deserved. And with me out of the picture, he was going to get it.

He disappeared from view as he ambled into a building nearby, probably off to class early... the geek. I sighed and peeled my fingers away from the steering wheel. Massaging one hand and then the other to relieve the ache they'd mysteriously developed.

"Why are you staring at my boyfriend?"

I damn near had a heart attack with a voice so close from out of nowhere reaching my ears. As it was, I jumped enough to just barely miss hitting my head on the roof. Leaning close to my open window was that pretty little blond.

She was giving me the look all women get sometimes, like I was a creepy stalker asshole.

To be fair, I was certainly acting like one.

"I wasn't staring…"

She tilted her head with a grin and arched an accusing brow.

"Anyone ever tell you that you suck at lying?"

There was something about her attitude, her demeanor that I found creepily familiar. But I couldn't put my finger on it. I did laugh a bit though.

"Pretty cocky for someone who has no idea what she's talking about."

And then she was laughing at me while she stepped back, shifted her weight to her left leg and folder her arms across her chest.

"The name's Jess. And I know exactly what I'm talking about. Listen, I don't know your deal and I don't really care. Just don't fuck with Sam. He's going through way too much crap anyway. He doesn't need any more shit shoveled on top of it. So whatever you're thinking of saying or doing to fuck with him, don't. I know trouble when I see it… and it's plastered all over your face."

And it hit me like a vampire kick to the gut.

She reminded me of… well, me.

A smaller, super blond, chick version of me…

And something about that made me ridiculously happy.

…As fucked up as that is.

Freud would probably have a fucking field day with me.

"You don't have anything to worry about, Jess. Not even planning on talking to him. I just wanted… He's, he's okay right?"

Something in my tone or my face must have sent across the right message, because her whole body shifted and she was that sweet disarming girl again.

"He's getting there. It was hard for him at first. Wouldn't talk to most of us, you know? But he's opening up, little by little. Are you who I think you are?"

My whole body tensed as I nodded once, quickly.

"Why don't you come over and say hi, then?"

I shrugged and played with the amulet around my neck.

"He doesn't want to see me. We didn't part ways on the best of terms if you know what I mean."

She shrugged a shoulder at me and dropped her arms.

"You won't know if you don't try. Besides, he's always talking about you… He misses you a lot. I can tell."

I nodded, but it was for my benefit, not hers... because that was good to know.

"I miss him too. Hey, do me a favor will you? Don't tell him I was here. I don't know how he'd take it and I'd just rather avoid any chick drama if possible."

I started up the car and looked over to her as she nodded.

"If that's what you really want. No problem."

I scrubbed a hand through my hair and smiled at her, mumbling a quick 'thanks'.

She started to back away with a short wave.

"It was good to meet the man behind the legend. He talks about you like you're some sort of superhero."

I frowned at her as she turned away slightly.

"What does that mean?"

But she just smiled and shook her head.

"I hope to meet you for real sometime... later Dean."

And then she was gone.

I idled for another ten minutes before snapping out of it and driving away.

If I have to give Sammy to someone, well, I think I could handle it… if it's her.

It's fine so long as he's happy.

Everything's fine.


	4. Worth The Wait

So the last chapter was not as exciting as the first two, so I thought I'd make up for it with this one. *Chuckles* I do hope that you all like this installmet!

As always... If you like it, let me know!

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><p>Dean's twenty seven when I listen to him jerk off in the next bed.<p>

It's not even five feet away from mine.

I hold my breath at first, because I'm terrified he can hear me... irrationally so. Because if he thought I was awake, he wouldn't be making those grunts and sighs. He wouldn't be working his hand over himself so languorously, taking his time.

He wouldn't be touching himself at all.

There's no way that he could know that I've been waiting for it. That I knew he'd fall into old habits sooner or later.

He used to wait for me to fall asleep all the time when we were younger.

A fact I realized later.

To be fair, I hadn't been intending to see it that first time. It happened so many years ago now, but the memory was still crystal clear in my mind.

I'd been asleep, when a soft keening moan woke me. When I opened my eyes, I'd been confused. Unsure of what had disturbed my slumber. It was dark, and I couldn't see any more of him then the mere outline of his body, but that had been okay. Because the noises he made were soft, but not muffled. That, coupled with the sound of slick skin sliding under cotton sheets was more than descriptive enough for me.

I'd been sixteen, so of course I was hard as fucking diamonds in seconds.

But at the time, I hadn't realized it was because of Dean himself. I'd never actually seen or heard someone else in the throes of sexual satisfaction before. And I listened intently, because Dean sounded so different in this than at any other time.

I didn't move to relieve the throbbing pressure between my legs back then, just like I had no intention of doing so now. For fear, for knowing, that I'd be caught, and even worse, that he'd stop. So I ignored it as best I could. But I allowed my eyes to open slightly, to peer over at him from beneath my lashes.

I couldn't risk opening them any further than that. There was a small stream of light floating through the broken shades over the window that rested in the wall behind Dean's bed... probably from a streetlight or something. It didn't matter though. What did matter was it meant that I could see him fairly well. It also meant that if my eyes were open and he happened to look over, he'd know exactly what I was doing. So I forced my breathing to a slow and even pace… And I watched him.

He's on his back, legs spread wide beneath the thin flimsy sheet shielding my eyes from his body. It hid his frame, true… but it's not capable of obscuring his activities. His eyes were closed and his mouth was open, but not slack. Lips moving soundlessly with clear purpose, like they wanted to be speaking… were forming the words and everything. But none escaped them. I had no idea what he would be saying if I weren't here, but I've always been curious to know. His sighs and moans don't stop, but they're so light, so soft, I have to concentrate to hear them at all.

His arm moves faster suddenly, drawing my gaze down. The sheet covering his hips slides down and away with the severity of the motion of his fist. Farther and farther it falls, just enough to reveal all of him down to the middle of his thighs, and my brain short circuited for a moment. That wide calloused palm hides most of his length with its continuous strokes. But the tip, flushed red and glistening with drop after drop of precome… it was a like a homing beacon.

I couldn't have pulled my eyes away if the devil himself appeared before me.

I wanted to moan, I wanted to lick my suddenly too dry lips, I wanted to touch my own cock so desperately. I wanted to join my own noises with his…

To hear what we'd sound like together.

Hips were rising to meet his hand now, muscles cording in his neck while he bit down on his lips, trying his very best to be quiet even now.

He was close.

My throat rumbled against my will, but thankfully I'd caught it in time. It hadn't made a real sound… but it had been a very near thing.

And not a minute later I had to hold my breath entirely for fear that I would actually moan.

Ribbons of white erupted from him in streaks, spiraling out in a high arc, landing all over his chest and even hitting just under his chin. I knew without looking that his eyes were wide, like the pleasure that surged through him was totally welcomed but a complete surprise. It happened every time he came as far as I could tell. I'd seen that before... many times.

But actually watching him come?

Watching the undeniable proof of his arousal and resulting climax splatter all over him in wave after stuttering wave of bliss?

That was a very new sight indeed.

One I'd be reliving over and over and over again within the course of the next few days, in the privacy of the dingy shower in the next room.

One that would cause me to get hard at random, with the memory fresh and persistent for weeks to come… Pun totally intended.

His arched back, which had frozen high off of the bed in his release, suddenly fell back down with a light thump, and his breathing was ragged and sharp in the quiet of the room.

He didn't move for a long time after that. Lazing about and enjoying the last few vestiges of the sparks left pulsing in his veins from his orgasm. It was such a Dean thing, to revel in it afterwards like that.

I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of his breathing even out and the whisper of his boxers being pulled back up. Listened while he stood and pulled his shirt off before heading into the bathroom, as quietly as possible… But it wasn't until I heard the tap running that I finally let out the small sigh I'd been holding… It's been over six months since we've been back on the road together and he hadn't done this in all of that time. No… He'd been careful to keep it in the shower.

And I couldn't figure out why.

Perhaps it had been out of respect? Or that he just hadn't gotten horny enough to dare? Perhaps.

It had been late when we pulled into the tiny dive motel earlier, and all of the bars in the area had been long since closed. No chance for him to find some nubile body to vent his physical frustrations on, this night.

Whatever the cause, I decided to shelf it for the evening. We had to interview people in the morning, and he'd notice if I was tired. I did my best to lie still when he came back out and crawled under his sheets. Even though I knew he wouldn't as much as glance in my direction. I listened to him getting comfortable again while my limbs grew heavy and I finally, finally drifted off to sleep.

When I dreamed, I dreamed of pools of green.

I dreamed of calloused hands and quiet sighs.

I dreamed of glistening lashes and the comforting rumble of the impala.

Finally, those nightmares…

The ones of fire, of pain… of Jess…

They stopped.


	5. Flickers Of Truth

A/N: The next installment isn't as long, but longer ones are on the way, I promise!

I hope you lovelies enjoy...

If you like it, let me know!

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><p>Sam is twenty four when I realize that these feelings will never go away.<p>

It's not like the thought itself was a new one. It was just the first time that I figuratively sat down and admitted it to myself.

I won't lie, I am the fucking king of denial.

Oh yes, and how I rule.

I'd told myself for years that this… thing… will fade. This need, this desperation, this hunger… it will ebb like the ocean tide. And eventually the pull will subside. But it's been too long, and I love the bastard too much. It's getting harder to hide it. And not just in the physical sense…

Though there is that, too.

I watch him sleep and jerk off to it, for fuck's sake.

And what's worse? I don't even feel guilty about it.

That's sort of terrifying.

I watch the rise and fall of his chest, and the way his hair rests around his face. And I can't help myself. No amount of girls will satisfy this drive, this fucking itch. There isn't any woman or vice that can distract or deter it. What do you do when faced with that sort of epiphany, anyways?

Me? I just blinked the water out of my eyes and watched the never ending spray carry the shampoo out of my hair and down the drain.

But what else could I do, really?

I couldn't ignore it anymore than I could ignore Sam...

I couldn't deny it anymore than I could deny that the sky was blue. Not now that my eyes were finally open.

What else was there to do, anyhow?

There certainly wasn't any spell or whatever to stop it. I checked…

Often.

So in the end, I accepted it.

I let the realization sit in the pit of my stomach and waited for the nausea... waited for the guilt that would never rise within my gut.

It was still a wonder to me that it never came.

But logically… I know I've always loved Sammy, and I could never be ashamed of that. I just don't have it in me to even try.

So I settled my musings with a conscious decision.

I would never do anything unless I saw some sign, had some inkling that he suffered too… Suffered from this affliction… That we suffered together.

But if there was something there… anything at all within him, all bets were off.

I've always been an all or nothing kind of guy. And this was the best possible way to settle things in my mind.

And it worked, for a time…

For almost a year, actually.

It worked until the flames started licking at the skin of my fingertips… until I could feel the heat swelling against me and burning me to ash and dust… until the fires fanned so hot around me I felt I was drowning within them.

And I couldn't sit passively and wait anymore.

But what to do?

It wasn't like I could just drop it out there and see what he said.

It wasn't like the bastard had a diary I could read.

Though he was such a girl sometimes, I wouldn't have been surprised.

And if he did have one, then it was far better hidden on that laptop than even my porn collection... Better than Jimmy Hoffa even.

I checked that, too.

But I digress.

So where was I?

Oh, right… What to do.

That part actually came on easier than I thought it would.

I'd stepped out of the bathroom humming 'Master Of Puppets' under my breath and pulled on my sweats almost dropping my towel, when it hit me.

What do I do with any chick I catch my eye on?

One who doesn't even realize she digs me, yet?

I seduce her.

…Duh.

And I felt like an idiot because it was such an obvious answer. There hasn't been a single female alive who could resist me with my charm turned up to maximum. And there were plenty of men who tried to engage me all the time.

So clearly I'm universally hot. If he's even a little inclined, it shouldn't be that hard to dig out of him, right?

I'm totally going to hell.

I dropped the towel on the floor and smiled as I threw myself upon the bed.

This would have to be done right. It would have to be done so carefully that there's no way Sammy could pick up on it...

No screw ups.

I'd have to be something I've never once been in my entire life.

I've never even been capable…

I'd have to be subtle.


	6. Falling Farther Tonight

A/N: I just wanted to start things off by saying thank you for all of the reviews!

They really brighten my day.

A few of you were really curious as to how I'd pull the challenge I'd set for myself off, and I'm hoping I don't disappoint. I still don't really know what direction I'm taking with this, but I'm having lots of fun writing it out.

My muses are currently quite happy.

I certainly hope you lovely duckies are, too.

And remember...

Reviews feed the muses, and keep them running strong!

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><p>Dean is twenty nine when he starts touching me.<p>

It's not something I noticed right away because we touch each other all the time. Thousands of tiny inconsequential brushes of fingertips over an elbow, on a shoulder blade, on the small of a back… these happened every day.

But this… this was different.

His fingers lingered. Not by much. Not by more than the blink of an eye, or a half of a breath… but I felt it. I noticed. Because when it comes to Dean, I always notice.

But just because I notice doesn't mean I know the cause. I didn't understand it. And Dean, he didn't even seem to register it. It didn't seem to him like there was anything weird about it at all. But it kept happening.

For weeks, the touches, gentle and warm continued… _progressed._ But his eyes held nothing unusual. His smile was always the same. They lasted a bit longer. The pressure varied. But…

Nothing else has changed.

He was the same old Dean, and that… that made it so much worse.

The dreams changed, though.

There was still the mossy green framed by glittering lashes… still of the comforting rumble of the impala. But now, there were warm palms on the back of my neck… Now there was a hug, long lasting and full of emotion, and heated breath ghosting over my collarbone.

Now when I woke up hard, I knew why.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't figure out what had sparked this change. I couldn't remember a specific day or event. There was no new danger. There was no need for physical reassurance that I was still alive. I couldn't even remember exactly when it started. I just remember when I'd noticed.

We'd been in some hole in the wall motel in, I kid you not, Frackville Pennsylvania. There was a possible woman in white, a rash of middle-aged men vanishing.

I'd been in the middle of changing my shirt when I had suggested the cause, which I'd been right about, by the way. And when I showed the newspaper article of the woman who'd killed her son and then herself Dean had smiled and rested a warm hand on my back… right in between my shoulder blades. His smile was all pride as he'd said 'Nice job, Sammy. Let's go and gank this chick.'

My heart swelled with more than just pride. And his hand, it didn't just pull away… It stayed there for another beat, before it slid down along my spine. Delicious, agonizing heat trailed down, down, down, to the waistband of my jeans, leaving gooseflesh in its wake… and I was suddenly half hard.

Of all of the ways that we'd ever touched each other, of all of the times that Dean has ever touched me… Not once has it ever felt like _that_.

It was pure luck, I decided, that he didn't even look back when he walked away. I pulled my shirt on and followed him out the door, adjusting myself to hide the evidence as I went.

Ever since then, I've been thinking about the lines that we cross for the people that we care about.

And I've been thinking about the lines that I would cross for Dean. The lines I have crossed, the ones that have long since been left behind.

I thought about Emily Rose and the lines she crossed when she couldn't handle her husband's infidelity. I thought about the pain she must have felt when she realized the horror of what she'd done.

I thought about how I could never hurt Dean like that. And how love can be twisted and corrupted when people were pushed too far by the one person they can't live without.

I thought about all of the lines that I will cross for Dean.

Because there isn't one that I wouldn't step over for him... none that I would ever regret… And I'd never be able to hurt him. That much I knew. No matter what he did, no matter what he does… He's the only thing I ever got to take with me wherever we moved. The only thing I've ever had that's worth anything.

He's the only thing I can't afford to lose.

But this energy that I feel… it's building, and the tension is rising.

And I'm going to end up doing something fucking stupid.

I can feel it.

Because the more he touches me, the longer his fingers press against the bare skin of my forearm, the more I want to lean into it. The more I want to touch him back.

But his touches are only meant to be brotherly… to be affectionate on a familial level.

My body interprets it in another way entirely, and it's trying to convince my brain that I should try.

That I should pull him into a hug and burry my face into the crook of his neck… the spot where his neck and shoulder meet. The spot that I'd always thought of as _mine_.

I remember wanting his warmth when I was younger. Whenever I was lonely, or scared… whenever a nightmare struck. It was my safe place. What's scary is that I still think of him that way. But it's so much more than that now.

That's the worst part of growing up…

Everything just gets complicated, and the complications never stop piling up.

The thing is, logically… there's no way someone couldn't see this thing I have coming. When you spend your entire childhood, your entire life with one person as your everything, the center of your whole world… it would be impossible not to love them. But he's the only person who knows all of me. Knows everything there is to know and he never looks away. He's never disgusted, even when any sane person would be.

It's not always a bad thing when someone knows the darkest parts of you… It took me years to come to terms with that. And he's always known.

I fall a little farther each day.

It's not something I can have him chase away… I can't just have him turn on a light to ward off the shadows it makes. And I'm too old to climb into his bed and seek his arms for comfort. Not to mention the desire that just the thought of it evokes.

I've been stuttering and stumbling like a fifteen year old for weeks now. Feeling clumsy and fumbling to speak, blushing and hiding my face from view. He's been wearing only boxers around the hotel room, saying he's too hot. And it _is… hot_.

It doesn't help that the ac is busted and it's one hundred and seven degrees in a no name town just south of Tucson Arizona.

He's eating a burger at the tiny desk in the corner, next to the bed I currently occupy. And we're looking for a new case. Bobby didn't have anything and we just finished a routine salt and burn. It was nice not having anything to rush off to for the moment, though. I was mostly looking out of habit anyway.

Dean was gloating over his quick thinking while he watched the television. I set my computer down and laughed, but let him crow his victory. A smudge of ketchup caught on the corner of his mouth and I moved without thinking.

It was like I had no control.

One minute I was still laughing, and the next I was sweeping the ketchup off of him and pulling my fingers across my tongue. I turned away and stared at the television, still chuckling. I saw him freeze out of the corner of my eye. And in my peripheral, I watched him while I made some asinine comment that meant nothing. Desperate to pretend things were normal. That what I did, didn't mean anything. That he'd accept it and move on. But he was still frozen in place a moment later. I held my breath as I reclined, resting my back against the wall behind me.

It wasn't until he finally moved, pointing a finger and mocking whatever show was on, that I allowed myself to breathe.

But still, I didn't relax until he rested a hand on my shoulder for a full heartbeat before standing and making his way to the other bed.

I laid down in the dark, and stared at the ceiling for a long time afterwards.

And my throat burned…

Hours later, I still tasted ketchup and salt on my tongue.

Just how much farther can I possibly fall after tonight?


	7. All Over Again

A/N: I would just like to say that I know things are moving a bit slowly, but apparently my mind enjoys the tease. *Laughs* I am definitely a fan of the slow burn. But I don't even have a plan or an outline for this. I'm just writing and letting my muse run wild then sort of glancing over the result. So please bear with me.

To those of you who love it, thank you.

To those of you who don't, I can't say I didn't try.

To all who review, you have my greatest of thanks. And I ask that you review again and again, for reviews are food and fire for the muses. I merely do their bidding.

Alright duckies, enough chatter from me.

On with the story!

* * *

><p>Sam is twenty five when I pin him to a bed.<p>

I haven't physically pinned him to anything in years. The freak is just too big for that, on most days... but, not today.

It's been a week since what I've privately dubbed 'the almost' incident, because that's what it was… an 'almost' moment. His fingertips ghosting, barely there, over the corner of my mouth… but they didn't stop there. It wasn't just wishful thinking on my part. I hadn't just imagined it… They'd played over my bottom lip as he pulled them away. And it was almost… something.

It was almost too far…

It was almost far enough.

And I wanted to pull those fingers back. I wanted to suck them into my mouth, to curl my tongue over each pad, to taste them. The feeling was so strong that it took me almost a full minute to pull myself out of it and back into reality. Back to the motel room, and into myself.

I tried for the rest of the night to quantify that moment… But I just couldn't. Because it wasn't really anything, was it?

I'd been touching him… so much. Much more than I had in years…

Touching his shoulder or his elbow… the small of his back or his hip…

Anywhere I could, whenever the opportunity presented itself.

And through it all, he said nothing. He did nothing. His smile never wavered and his steps never faltered. It was absolutely frustrating. And I found myself second guessing this method time and time again. Thinking maybe it was too subtle. Perhaps I should choose an entirely different approach…

But then it hit me. Like a lightning bolt. Sammy wasn't doing anything. He wasn't protesting or pulling away. He wasn't asking me what I was doing or why. He was accepting it. And after that realization hit, I started paying closer attention.

And the more I touched him and watched him, the more I began to notice, to see.

His whole body shifts towards me. It's so small a thing that it doesn't really register at first. And it doesn't register because he's almost always facing me anyways. But when he's buried in his laptop or focusing on someone else and I drop a casual hand onto his shoulder blade, he turns. Turns his whole body until I'm faced with the long line of his frame leaning back, stretched out lazily in his chair... Turns until his eyes are the only thing I could possibly see… Turns and it feels like I'm the only thing in the whole god damned universe…

But it wasn't until tonight that the full meaning of that dawned on me.

Researching a possible haunting on the outskirts of Portland, we were once again holed up in a crappy motel room and it felt like home. I'm two beers in; Sammy was still nursing his first when he sat back with a satisfied grin.

"This is definitely our kind of weird, Dean. Three people missing in two weeks. Teenagers sneaking into an old abandoned house on some dare or another over the past year all swear they've seen a weeping woman. And get this, every time she appears, someone goes missing."

I walked up behind him to read the articles still up on the screen and smiled as I ruffled his hair. I didn't pull my hand away as quickly as anyone else might. But I was feeling warm and happy and his girly locks felt nice against my fingers. So I left them there for another moment. But in that moment he swiveled the chair to face me. His hands rested on the arms and his body seemed relaxed, but his eyes were searing into me… burning right through me.

"That's my boy. Good work, Sammy."

I waited for his token protest at the nickname, but none was forthcoming. His eyes slipped closed as my fingers curled gently and dragged across his scalp, and my heart stuttered.

He stayed that way for a moment longer, his long limbs relaxed and on display like an offering. And I blinked.

_Was_ it an offering?

I dragged my hand away regretfully. But I couldn't afford to leave it there. It was a delicate balance that I had to maintain here. The warmth in my belly spread and a smirk flitted over my features as I ducked behind him and pulled him into a headlock. He used the chair to turn himself out of my hold and stood with a grin of his own. A scuffle ensued and it was like we were young again, wrestling and fighting for fun. Not for the job… Not for training. Just for us.

There were hands everywhere and huffed laughter filling the air alongside muffled grunts and harsh pulls of breath. And my blood was pounding, my heart thudding hard beneath my ribs. Elbows knocking lightly into ribs and fingers digging under armpits to shock each other into submission were like every happy memory we've ever shared all rolled into one, into this moment.

Pillows went flying and the lamp on the nightstand wobbled precariously but neither of us paid it any mind. Too busy wrapped up in each other, around each other to give a shit.

I always was the better grappler, and this time was no different. I had Sammy flat on his back, diagonally over the bed closest to the window. I had my legs twined around his, and a foot hooked over each of his ankles… His wrists locked together in my left hand while my right forearm rested just under his chin. But we were both grinning broadly.

The skin over my lower abs burned pleasantly where it pressed against his, our shirts had gotten tugged up during the struggle.

I realized too late exactly where we were and what we were doing, but even then it was hard to bring myself to really care.

And Sam? He just tilted his head back against the mattress and closed his eyes… like he did all those years ago, in the same exact way. One hundred percent at ease, and content, and safe… And the picture he made had me easing my arm away from his throat. Long limbs were still and lax, like he had no intention of moving them, and he wore a small smile which only just barely tugged at the corner of his lips. The flesh of his cheek was so soft under my thumb that it startled me physically. I jolted and moved to pull my hand away when I looked down into half lidded hazel eyes, and swallowed thickly.

The way he gazed at me made something in my gut kick. And it pulled me off of him with a force that shocked me, like a whip snapping back.

Sammy just smiled lazily and arched to pull a kink out of his back as he kicked off his shoes.

"Now that we've destroyed the place, it might be time to get some shut eye. I'm beat."

That's what he'd said, but an hour later, in the darkness, while I'd been feigning sleep and waiting for him to finally pass out too, I heard something I haven't heard since he'd stopped having wet dreams on a regular basis...

I heard Sam jacking off.

Never mind that I'd been doing it regularly in the same room while he slept for years... This was so much better than that, and yet ridiculously, conversely, it was so much worse.

Sam, he's never been that bold on purpose. Not once. But he's doing it now. And I'd be a lying sonofabitch if I said it didn't crank my libido like gasoline to a fire.

He makes these whining sounds... These tiny little noises that he tries to choke down, but can't quite suffocate. And he's making the flimsiest attempt at being quiet that I've ever heard. Sure he's not outright moaning and he's choking off pants and sighs but he's got nothing to buffer himself. No other sound to hide behind. No running water or crackling ancient TV. And I might be dying. Because the sheets are rustling with every pull and he's tossing his head back and forth on the pillow and his breathing is so ragged that it's actually louder than the stutter-kick-thud of the pounding heartbeat in my ears.

And I found myself cursing every god I could ever remember hearing the name of, for the fact that I was on my side with my back to him.

I wanted so desperately to watch.

The only solace I found was that if I did it slowly, I could palm myself with my left hand without making any noise or sign of movement of my own. Not that I thought he could hear me over his own enthusiasm, but Murphy's Law was a very real thing. And the last thing I needed to deal with was a discussion on why I was rubbing one out to the tune of Sammy's moans less than five feet away.

Even with that thought flitting around in my brain, my hand still carefully slipped into my boxers and squeezed.

It was probably the most sexually exciting thing I'd ever done to date. And that's including that time with the twins. For someone who's done pretty much everything in the book, that might be a sad fact, indeed. But it wasn't any less true. One tiny squeeze and I'm already almost there. His noises rose slightly, becoming fevered; almost frantic, and I knew... I just knew he was almost there, too.

That coupled with the sounds and a single slow, too dry pull along my own length and I was blinking around stars. It was hard, so very hard to keep my breathing even, my body still, but I somehow managed. And I thought once again, there's a place for me in hell. Reserved just for D. Winchester. And I totally deserved it.

But that didn't mean I could stop. I never had a chance against fighting this. The battle was lost long before I ever realized it was even happening. A smile flitted across my lips as Sam whispered, 'Oh my god...' into the dark on the wings of a sigh, and I bit back my usual retort.

Today I pinned my younger brother to his bed. I say younger because I haven't been able to call him little in many years now...

Friggin' giant.

But anyways, I pinned him to his bed and an hour later he got off, in that very same bed... like he just couldn't help himself. And if I could, I'd relive this moment forever... Every single day. Yeah, I'd do it all over again.


End file.
